Stellanus gave the order to his men and they followed their prefect, walking their horses forward two abreast. As Cato passed Macro, they exchanged a brief bow of heads. The other squadron followed, passing through the gate, across the bridge over the narrow ditch and on to the track that led diagonally down the slope at the side of the fort. Cato knew that they would not be seen until they rounded the corner of the small hill upon which the fort stood and was content to let the column walk that far before increasing the pace. He felt his heartbeat quicken and had to force himself not to look back towards the gatehouse and the safety of the fort. In the distance, a mile away, he could see the rear of the enemy force heading to intercept the reinforcement column. As he rode at a steady pace, determined to give the impression of being calm and in control, Cato’s mind was filled with anxiety over the danger that lay before him.

With luck, the officer leading the column would have a few men screening the main body and the moment they became aware of the enemy, the reinforcements would close up and trust to their heavy shields and iron discipline to carve their way through to the fort. On the other hand, Cato reflected, the officer might well be one of the freshly minted tribunes who had reached the frontier with his confidence in Roman supremacy and contempt for the barbarian undented. The kind of man who blundered forward until tripped up by experience. Some struggled back on to their feet, others paid the price of their arrogance in full.

The rough track leading down across the slope began to level out and now Cato could see the edge of the parade ground and the enemy camp beyond. They would be spotted at any moment, if they had not already been. He tapped his heels to get his horse’s attention. ‘On, Hannibal. On!’